


The Green Jacket

by splix



Category: Sharpe, Sharpe - All Media Types, To the Ends of the Earth (2005), To the Ends of the Earth Trilogy - William Golding, cross - Fandom
Genre: M/M, implied sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splix/pseuds/splix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Edmund Talbot makes the crossing to Australia in the occasional company of Captain Richard Sharpe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Daring Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> While watching _To the Ends of the Earth_ , I was delighted to see Riflemen aboard the ship that carried the young and luscious Edmund Talbot [Benedict Cumberbatch] to his destination. Naturally, I thought of the most famous Rifleman....

1\. A Daring Rescue.

 

*

 

Considering myself a dutiful godson in most respects, I had promised his lordship a faithful rendering of all pertinent events that did occur aboard the fragile vessel that is to take us to the Antipodes. Be that as it may, there are in fact some matters so intimate that one needs must commit pen to paper, but cannot commend such to the sight of so august a personage as his lordship. Though he exhorted me to omit nothing, I find myself unable to do so (with many a blush besides). Thus, I keep this diary, a far more slender volume than the journal to be sent away, and I dare say a far more indelicate one, whose contents are to be revealed in due course. As I have been promised a great deal of free time aboard the ship, I have every confidence that I shall be able to maintain both accounts with ease.

 

*

 

My adventure began, for good or ill, even before we set sail. I had reached the harbor and in my excitement fairly dashed up the gangplank when the purser, a rough but friendly fellow with a weathered face and very few teeth informed me that the launch would be delayed by a day, “and no more for certain” as he declared emphatically, for not all the officers had arrived. I was, as can be imagined, most deeply vexed at the prospect of waiting, but I surmised that no entreaties on my part would force the ship into motion, and so I had the greater part of my luggage _stowed aboard_ (how charming is this nautical lexicon! I know I shall adopt it and talk like a ‘sea dog’ in no time at all) and sought shelter in the coaching-inn the purser had recommended as being eminently comfortable, with the softest beds and the freshest viands. 

I had no more paid the fee for the night and ordered supper sent up to my chamber than I discovered the purser spoke false. A more disreputable and disagreeable place I have rarely seen. The public rooms seemed entirely and permanently inhabited by ruffians and whores, and the only couple I might have spoken to departed to their own rooms in haste after a quick and fearful glance about. My own quarters were not much pleasanter; the bed yielded a veritable cloud of fleas when sat upon, and what furniture there was proved much scarred and broken. The fire gave off a choking smell, and I had it doused and counted myself fortunate that the weather was warm. I shall not describe the supper that was sent to me except to state that it was execrable, nor shall I chronicle the wretched night I spent upon a bed that was composed not of feathers and wool, but stones, fleas, and possibly clumps of mud. I awoke (or rather, arose, since I had scarcely _slept_ at all) in a bad humour, shaved, dressed, and made my way back to the common rooms, where I breakfasted upon bacon, bread, and tea, all tasting as if they had been pickled by too-lengthy proximity to the sea.

Though I was exceeding eager to begin my journey, I lingered a while and inspected the colourful characters occupying the public room. As with the evening before, they were an ill-favoured lot and not a few met my regard with an impertinent stare and some stifled, mocking laughter, as though the sight of a gentleman was too amusing to be borne. I confess that after nearly an hour of this insolence, my own feathers began to ruffle, so I decided to make my way toward the ship. I had not been summoned, but could no longer ignore my zeal for adventure. I settled my hat upon my head and made my way from the inn, discreetly pressing against unwashed bodies with my walking-stick to clear a less odiferous path.

I had proceeded no more than halfway down the narrow street when I heard voices behind me and then felt a tugging on my sleeve. I wheeled abruptly to see three grubby and stooped men, their age indeterminate, and their faces at once wheedling and sly. I prepared to make short shrift of their importuning, but one of them held up a shining and familiar object – my pocket-watch. 

“Sir! Sir! You left this on the table, sir,” the man said.

“Good God!” I exclaimed. “I do not even recall setting it down. Well, I thank you gentlemen for your trouble.” Naturally such service cannot be rendered without reward, and so, reaching into my pocket, I extracted three half-crowns and settled them in the waiting palm. “Good day.” I touched my hat and made ready to depart again, but one of the trio laid his hand on my arm. Annoyed, I glared down at the offending hand, but it remained firmly – too firmly, in point of fact – in place.

“Might need a bit more than that, sir.” The owner of the hand winked at me.

I held my temper tolerably well. “I’m afraid I have no more money to give you.” Money I had, but none for _them_ ; doubtless the subtlety eluded them. “Please unhand me at once.”

“Nay, can’t do that, sir. Need more money first.” The trio crowded round me, forcing me backward. I felt an overwhelming gratitude that the bulk of my notes and coin were in a strongbox and already aboard the ship. “Might need quite a bit more, eh?”

I consider myself an amiable fellow and vastly clement when dealing with the lower ranks, but this was an untenable outrage. My wrath crested, and I raised my stick in a threatening fashion. “Be gone, or I shall be forced to thrash you soundly.”

They laughed, as if I were a kitten spitting at a mastiff, and then acted with startling and terrifying violence. The man whose hand still clutched my arm swung about behind me and seized me, pulling my arms behind my back and dragging me into a tiny, filthy alley. Shocked and breathless, I could scarcely resist, yet as I was drawn inexorably into the gloom, I realised that I was in most desperate straits. I drew breath to raise a cry of alarm, and another man clapped a hand over my mouth, driving my head backward into a slime-encrusted brick wall. Blackness crept into the edges of my sight, I know not whether from pain or terror – perhaps both. 

But it was terror that rose up most strongly when the third ruffian held up a glittering blade and then placed the tip at my throat. “Hush now, pretty lad.” He smiled, displaying irregularly spaced teeth like gaps in a picket-fence (witness how odd is the mind! I recall fixing upon this peculiar detail even in the midst of the most frightening peril) and exhaled a breath that nearly drove me into insensibility with its stench. “Quiet now. No squawking, understand? You stay quiet, you get to live, I reckon.” He touched my brow with his filthy hand. “Understand me?”

I nodded as best as I was able, for the other two men were pressing me against the wall, and one still stifled my mouth with his hand. Presently their grip relaxed somewhat, and I gasped for breath, relieved, though the point of the blade still rested against my throat, unprotected but for my collar and neckcloth (it is also passing strange that I had a fleeting resentful thought for the state of my linen; I did not want it bloodied. Vanity’s fancies even at the worst of times, alas).

“Now then, lad. Where’s the money? This pocket?” One of the men thrust a hand into my waistcoat pocket, then muttered a curse. I was dazed and too terror-stricken by the faint tickling sensation of the knife-edge against my skin to answer, let alone give a coherent reply. Unaided by me, the rogue quickly searched my pockets until he found my purse. With a whoop, he peered inside, and then looked up at me with a scowl. “This ain’t all, not for a toff like you. Where’s the rest?”

I wet parched lips. “On the ship where I sail this afternoon.” Some measure of courage returned to me. “And you’ll not see another penny of it.” I even managed a triumphant smile and confess that my soul thrilled at the thieves’ most evident consternation.

The unholy trio exchanged apprehensive glances, and then the scoundrel with the knife examined me coolly, the blade ensuring I made no threatening motion in response to his slow, insulting inspection. “He’s a pretty one, no?”

The other two glanced toward the street. No-one had seen the scuffle, or if they had, they had simply ignored it. “Aye, he is,” the first man agreed. They all looked at me closely then, as a starving man contemplates a Christmas dinner.

A sensation of the most debilitating fear settled into my stomach, for I quickly discerned their intent. Foolishly, I disregarded the knife and attempted to wriggle from the loosened grip of the men who held me. I kicked out with booted feet and swung one arm in a feeble mockery of fisticuffs. In startlement, the ruffians converged upon me and proceeded to propel me further down the alley.

I shouted at the top of my lungs for aid. “Help! Help! Murder –“ but at once a fist like a battering ram plowed into my chest and another in my stomach, and I bent double, coughing and wheezing, until I was dragged upright once more and a wad of cloth was forced into my mouth, silencing any further outcry. The foul brigands pushed me against the wall, and I felt the rough, wet brick abrading my face. My flailing arms were caught and pinned, and it was then I discerned coarse hands fumbling at the buttons of my breeches. A wave of purest terror overcame me as those same hands found bare skin and caressed intimately, and I let out a smothered wail and struggled for my virtue and my very life.

What happened next I cannot tell, for I was rendered nearly senseless by fright. I heard a blood-curdling yell, thudding sounds, and quite possibly the cracking of bones. I saw one of the miscreants fleeing, and all at once the other two were upon the ground at my feet, shrieking in pain. It was then my wits deserted me altogether, and I would have fallen as well if not for a strong hand grasping my arm – in friendship now, not in threat – and a deep voice in my ear.

“All right, lad. You’re all right. Come on now.” The hand kept me upright, and steadied me against the wall. Gentle fingers eased the stifling gag from my mouth. “There you are. Come on, lad, steady on. Say something.”

“I –“ I half-swooned, and when my vision cleared, I saw a man standing before me in the green jacket of an Army rifleman. 

He was fair-haired, with narrow green eyes that watched me closely, and a sturdy, square-jawed face that seemed disinclined to smile. The weapon that made his kind both admired and infamous was slung quite nonchalantly over his shoulder, and it was now clear to me even in the midst of my utter confusion that this man was my rescuer, and that he had dispatched my attackers with outstanding courage.

“Sir,” I stammered, for I saw a red sash of rank clasping his slim waist, “I do not – that is, I cannot thank you enough. They –“ Here I broke off and with a ferocious blush, attended to the buttons of my trousers.

“Did they take your money?” The officer’s voice held strong echoes of the North Country.

“Yes.”

The officer leant down, grasped one of the ruffians by the collar, and dragged him upward, all but snarling. “Go on, then. Give it back. Now.”

The scoundrel whimpered and clawed pathetically at the officer’s hands. “I ain’t got it.” He pointed at his compatriot still curled upon the ground, holding himself between the legs. Had the officer dealt a blow to his most sensitive nether regions? I confess to a feeling of sweet satisfaction, though it was hardly sporting; it was no more than the foul beast deserved.

“Right.” The officer dropped the first man and went to the second, rifling through his pockets as rudely as the second man had rifled through mine. He found the purse and handed it to me. “There you go, lad. They’ll not trouble you again.” With a short nod, he strode up the alley and into the street.

Bewildered, I watched for a moment, then hastened after him, collecting my hat, grip, and walking-stick, all of which had been lost in the scuffle. I saw him threading his way through the crowds in the direction of the wharf and broke into a most undignified trot. “Sir! Pray stop!”

The officer halted, spun smartly, and glared at me as if I had interrupted a pleasant constitutional. “Aye?”

“You departed precipitously –“ That was ungrateful, I decided, and tried again. “I was not afforded – that is, I did not take the chance to adequately thank you for your assistance.”

He shrugged, and a lock of thick gold hair fell upon his brow. “Heard you yell,” he said. “Nobody else looked, so I did.”

Truly, man is indifferent to the sufferings of his fellow creatures. Had I heard an agonised plea for succour, I surely would have…well, at the very least I would have sought the aid of a patrol-man. “They might have killed me.”

“Aye. I didn’t like the odds. Three on one.”

_Three on one_. The image that phrase conjured turned my stomach. “I cannot say the odds were bettered in your favour, sir. I did nothing whatsoever to help. I apologise most heartily.”

The officer clapped me on the shoulder, an overfamiliarity I was willing to overlook under these extraordinary circumstances. “You weren’t in any state to help, lad. It’s nowt.” He smiled then, and the flesh around his eyes crinkled in agreeable fashion. 

“Is there no way I can thank you? I sail for Australia this very afternoon, but in the meantime should there be any service I can render, I –“

“You’re headed there too?” The officer tilted his head to one side and gave me a closer look.

“Indeed I am. Have I the honour of travelling with you, sir?”

The officer looked over his shoulder and jerked a thumb toward the decrepit hulk that would be my home for the next several months. “If you’re travelling in that heap of shite, I reckon you have at that.”

I blanched at the man’s vulgar choice of words, but gamely thrust out my hand. “Edmund Talbot, at your service.”

He took my hand. He was only a fraction less tall than I, and I have considerable height. I perceived then, too, that he was older than I, but not by more than ten years. “Richard Sharpe.”

“Colonel Sharpe?” 

Sharpe’s cool green eyes bored into mine. “Captain.”

“The same rank as our good Captain Anderson who is in command of the ship, then!”

“Army’s different from the Navy, sir.”

I wondered then at his accent, decidedly not that of a gentleman. “Are you one of those stalwarts who distinguish themselves in the ranks and rise upward, Captain Sharpe?”

The green eyes became icy. Sharpe placed his tall crested stovepipe atop his head, and his hand rested upon the blade of what appeared to be a butcher’s cleaver – hardly a gentleman’s sword, to be sure, and I had only to look at that to discern the truth. “Aye, I am that. How did you guess?” Without another word, he swung about and strode toward the gangplank with a heavy, arrogant stride.

I could only watch, crimsoning and hoping no-one had heard our exchange. I was simply attempting to be affable and, considering our impending situation, neighbourly. But it is, I suppose, a harsh lesson to realise that those lower in social distinction nearly always respond with either servility or a needlessly insolent tongue. And surely more of that delicate stepping lies ahead. Navigating these particular waters may be more difficult, I fear, than the journey itself.

I will declare, here and only here, however, that I have a certain lingering fascination now for my reluctant benefactor, Captain Richard Sharpe.


	2. Mal de Mer

2\. Mal de Mer.

 

*

 

Alas, I have not written in this journal nor the one intended for my godfather in several days; I have been dreadfully indisposed, falling victim to the infamous _mal de mer_ , that most enfeebling of oceanic ailments. If I may be permitted a certain absence of decorum in this, my private diary, I must own that I have spent perhaps the greater part of a week surrendering the contents of my belly to a slop bucket, and at times, regrettably, to the floor beneath my bunk. The seawater that sluices the deck-boards of this rotting cheese of a ship has washed away the worst of the foulness on the floor, a minor cause for gratitude, but also, of course, the cause of my misery. 

I have been quite unable to keep the smallest morsels down, and on what I believe what was the second day of our voyage, I found myself stumbling back from what the sailors call the head only half-sensible, in full view of the seamen who watched my halting progress with what I fear was the veriest amusement. I sank down upon my bunk, my belly heaved once more, and I groped for the bucket and retched again. So unmanned was I by this wretched sensation and the abject humiliation of being reduced to a figure of fun that I wept, my cheeks hot with shame and illness, and regretted leaving England’s green hills, its blessedly solid ground, and my life of cleanliness and comfort.

It was then I heard a knock upon my door.

“Leave me be!” I shouted. I had attempted a forbidding, stentorian bellow, but what emerged was a froggy croak utterly lacking in authority or volume, with a small, piteous sob tacked on at the end for good measure. I pressed my hands to my face and waited for the supplicant, most likely Wheeler, the larboard servant, to leave. Instead, the door opened, and in peered none other than my erstwhile rescuer, Captain Richard Sharpe. 

“You all right, lad?”

The sheer effrontery of his unsolicited entrance combined with my churning insides whittled my tongue to a knife’s edge, I fear, and I quite forgot – or more accurately, ignored – my obligation to him, and ignored the obvious concern in his voice as well. “What do you want?”

“You look a bit green.”

“How remarkably observant of you.” Acid-tongued and ungrateful in the bargain; I blush even as I record this. He was, in fact, being quite charitable in his assessment. I was bathed in sweat, smelled abominable, and was no doubt as pale as milk.

Captain Sharpe folded his arms and leaned against the doorway of the heaving ship, clearly unperturbed by my incivility. “Aye. Saw you walk past just now, and I weren’t sure you’d make it to your cabin without falling.”

“You saw me,” I muttered. “Capital. I should assemble the entire crew to watch as I stagger back and forth to the head.” Another wave of nausea struck me, and though I tried to breathe deeply, I could not prevent myself from retching. Thank God the bucket was there. I seized it and vomited, then lay back to recover, too steeped in distress to notice that Captain Sharpe still stood in the doorway. More tears formed in my eyes and spilled, and I sniffled like a helpless child.

“Here, lad.” Captain Sharpe bent over me, holding a clean, folded handkerchief. “Mop yourself up.”

In answer, I turned away, willing him to leave. Fascination or no, the impulse to be alone whilst ill, to curl up like a wounded dog, is a sound one, and at sea, the only proper one for a man. There are no nurses upon the bounding main. My wish was not to be granted, though. I felt myself turned over, with the gentlest of hands, and the kerchief smoothed over my brow and cheeks and lips and below my eyes.

“It’s all right, lad. Just a little more salt water, that’s all.”

This small kindness threatened to undo me altogether, but I managed to still the trembling of my mouth. “Thank you.”

“Where’s that bloody servant? Wheeler? Shouldn’t he be looking after you?”

I managed the most timorous of smiles. “Alas, he’s not my servant alone – he attends to the entire larboard side on this deck. Doubtless one of the ladies is in more unpleasant circumstances than I.”

“Hard to believe,” Sharpe mumbled. He laid a hand on my brow. “You’re feverish, lad. You need medicine.”

“I need this confounded ship to cease its hither-and-thither motion, Captain Sharpe.” I struggled to sit up, and succeeded, with some effort. “Or at the very least, to gain my sea-legs, though I despair of that happy event ever taking place.”

“I’m certain you will in time, sir.”

“But what of yourself?” I inquired with some sourness. “You evidently have one of those iron constitutions untrammelled by even the vilest and most insalubrious weather, I take it.”

Sharpe shrugged. “Just lucky, I reckon.”

“I should think so.” The ship rolled sideways, and my stomach surged upward again. “Oh, God.” I leaned over and vomited into the bucket.

“It’s a right shock that you’ve anything left to puke,” Sharpe ventured.

“I think that might have been my liver,” I jested weakly, and wiped at my mouth with Sharpe’s handkerchief.

Sharpe grinned. “Good lad.”

“I dare say your visit has improved my spirits, Captain Sharpe.” Bedraggled and exhausted as I was, it was the truth, and I bestowed my most sociable smile upon him.

“Aye, well –“ Sharpe backed away and opened the door to my cabin. “I’d best be off, then, sir. Seeing as you’re feeling a bit better.” 

Was it purest fancy on my part, or did I discern the faintest trace of a blush upon that masculine face? I had not supposed that a hardened Army captain was capable of blushing, and I found it most unexpectedly charming. Then again, it might have been the lack of light on the deck giving rise to an illusion, I cannot say for certain. Nevertheless, I was at that moment seized with an impulse to allay his discomfort. “Captain Sharpe, might I beg you to call upon me again – when I am feeling more the thing? I assure you that I am not as dull and inarticulate as I have appeared on the two occasions we have met.”

“I reckon I could. Good morning, sir.” With a whirling motion that set the scarlet tassels at his waist a-swinging, he was gone, and I was alone and in better spirits.

All of which evaporated into evanescence when the ship gave another great roll, and I was obliged to lift the bucket once more! I employed not a few choice oaths I had heard from some jolly tars whilst boarding, and collapsed back into my bunk and fell asleep.

 

*

 

Illness has forced me to lose count of the passing days, but I _believe_ we are near to the third week of our journey. I am now in altogether fine fettle – not so, I exaggerate. The sad truth is that I am still somewhat weak and queasy. Wheeler tells me that the food on this voyage is excellent, but I have had little opportunity to discover that for myself, as I have been living on a diet of ship’s biscuit and the paregoric that Wheeler gives me, and which pushes me into a dreamless stupor free of sickness and vomiting. 

But let me not spend the entire journey weeping in my cabin! As soon as my head and stomach settled to a degree, I arose, had Wheeler help me into the oilskins he had procured for me (I did not, it must be said, cut a dashing figure in the lamentably damp and heavy things), and tottered up to the surface decks – what in heaven’s name are they called? Clearly I must consult the maritime dictionary – and took in the weather. I have made the acquaintance of our grim and obdurate Captain Anderson as well as some of the officers and passengers on the ship, and will not document those meetings here, for all that takes place (save where matters of the heart are concerned) is fodder for the journal that will make its way to my godfather. 

I have had the opportunity to observe Captain Sharpe at a distance, for he has kept his distance from me. Perhaps after that brief unbending, he recalled that which he believed to be a slight or insult on my part. Any attempt to explain myself would doubtless result in another thorny riposte, and so I have not approached him, but instead watched and, I think, learned. He seems a man of deep silences and solitudes; true, he speaks to his fellow-soldiers, and a rather crumpled, shabby lot they are, but in a scrap I am told they are a fearsome sight to behold, quick to the gun and hawk-eyed, spotting an enemy. He also keeps company with some of the ship’s officers, and they seem to have taken a liking to him. Even the dour Captain Anderson has smiled at him a time or two. And the ladies – well, the ladies of the ship always seem to have a kind word for him accompanied by tiny sighs and flutterings of fan and eyelash, and he is a bewildering admixture of gallant and shy in their presence. This compound is met with the most favorable of responses. One Zenobia Brocklebank, a young lady of exceeding, not to say unnatural florid complexion and red lips, seems to beckon him with her eyes upon every occasion they meet. I cannot say if Captain Sharpe has yet succumbed. I do not care for her forward conduct.

But when he is not in conversation with his ‘chosen men’ as I have heard them called, or the predatory females upon this ship, he prefers to be alone. He does not read, nor smoke, nor drink to excess as some men have done, but merely walks the ship, or stands at its rails and looks distantly out upon the sea.

One day I took it upon myself to speak to his men. They were surprisingly engaging and congenial, and it took no difficulty to persuade them to wax nearly poetic regarding their enigmatic captain. It seems he is a hero, having saved the estimable Lord Wellington’s life in a pitched battle at Assaye. Furthermore, he has captured a French eagle touched by the hand of Napoleon himself and has led a forlorn hope to storm the walls in – oh, heavens, I forget. Truly, he is a half-mythical figure, and yet who else but a Hero in the Greek tradition would step into a darkened and filthy alley-way to fend off three dangerous ruffians in defense of a man he had never met? And with such nonchalance besides. In any case, they were garrulous, and armed with this new information, I took it upon myself to speak to him, approaching him as he stood watching the great foaming waters in our wake.

“A very fine evening.”

He turned toward me. “Hello, Mr. Talbot. You’re looking better.”

“ _Au contraire_ , I look ridiculous, but I thank you for the compliment all the same. I hope I do not disturb your peace.”

I had the fleeting notion that he was about to say that I was indeed disturbing him, but he only hesitated, then offered me a smile. “Not at all, sir. Did you need something, sir?”

“Only to speak with you. I have been hearing the happiest of reports from your compatriots. They tell me you are a veritable Perseus, slaying Gorgons and defeating dragons single-handed.”

Sharpe snorted and turned back to the rail. “Don’t believe all that you hear, sir.”

“Surely they’re telling the truth.”

A mottled blush pinked Captain Sharpe’s neck, cheeks, and ears, and I suspected the blush I had witnessed days before was indeed the product of the man’s discomfort. “Maybe some of it,” he mumbled. “You’re feeling better, then, sir?”

“Observe, Captain,” I replied merrily, planting my feet and allowing my knees to flex in the absurd and yet wholly practical method I had learnt from Wheeler, “I am learning to ride the ship. I am a good deal more experienced now, though admittedly I am only just catching up with veterans like yourself. Have you been on many ships?”

“A few.”

“I trust you have had many thrilling experiences. Perhaps you can tell me about them – this evening, possibly? I am not otherwise engaged.”

“Not much of a storyteller, sir.”

“Stuff and nonsense! Everyone has a story to tell.”

Sharpe shrugged. “There’s them what talk and them what do. I’m not keen to waste my time talking.”

The first stirrings of vexation twinged in my belly. “I imagine you must be otherwise engaged – with Miss Brocklebank, perchance. I have seen her vapid twitterings out and about.”

“That’s my business. Maybe you should mind your own.” His voice was soft, but there was neither a jot nor a tittle of mirth in it. He sounded dangerous, and despite myself I shivered.

I did not possess the wit to back away, however. “She wears a great deal of rouge, sir. You would do well to lay in a supply of mercury before allowing her to approach you again.”

Sharpe glared at me. “You want me to talk, then? Right, I’ll talk. You fell for an old trick in yon tavern, lad. Those scum who attacked you had you right where they wanted.”

I drew myself to my full (and not unimpressive) height. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“I mean they took your bloody watch and then pretended to find it.”

“How do you –“

“I bleeding saw them do it, that’s how. Brushed by you while you walked out of the place with your nose in the air. I were in the same place and watched you looking at everyone like they was the dirt under your feet. I were tempted to let them take what coin you had, but when you yelled out I reckoned –“ Sharpe stopped speaking; a peculiar expression settled over his countenance, as if he had bitten into a piece of rotten fruit. He bit his lip, then laid a hand on my arm. “Look here, lad –“

I was too shocked to reply, but Nature provided the means to avoid conversation. A great wave struck the ship, and it lurched raggedly to starboard. My recently acquired knowledge fled, and I staggered for balance, then found myself plowing headlong into Captain Sharpe. He took hold of one of the lines and grasped me about the waist, steadying me. The graceless manner of our collision ended with me clutching him quite desperately, and knocking the breath out of myself because of it.

“Careful,” he murmured. His lips grazed my ear, and I felt the warmth of his breath.

Dignity having deserted me for the moment, I struggled to right myself. “Devil take it – let me go.” So hurt and confused was I by his admission that I did not wait for a reply, but wrenched myself free and staggered across the deck to the ladder. I found my way back to my bunk, shed the loathsome oilskins, and slumped down, my cheeks burning. 

This is the second time Captain Richard Sharpe has given me a tongue-lashing. I should be in a fearful wax, but instead I find myself quite prostrate with shame and bewilderment. What have I done to offend him so? And why, when I think of his arm around my waist and his lips against my ear, does my body choose to remember the occasion with an altogether sensual reply?

There was a time once – a young man named Arthur, at university. We were particular friends, and I am reminded…but that is over. It is a common enough occurrence in young men’s lives, and after an interval, his thoughts most naturally turn to the fairer sex.

Most naturally. And yet it is Captain Sharpe who persists in invading my thoughts, and whose name I whispered as I made entirely different use of my slop bucket last night.

 

*


	3. War's End

3\. War’s End

 

*

 

We had sighted a ship, heavily armed by all accounts, and Captain Anderson declared that he would not flee, but stand and defend our ship for King and country. As this is so superannuated a vessel and the number of men employed in its defense so few, it was ‘all hands on deck,’ even down to the able-bodied male passengers of an age to fight, while the women and children sheltered in the orlop. I, along with several of my fellow-passengers, was mustered to the gun deck, where I struck my head not once, but twice - good God, what ignominy! I suppose I was saved the worst of the jeering by virtue of the fact that I lay unconscious upon the floor, but the commissioned gunner, Mr. Askew, silenced the others and suggested (with a tact that upon recollection positively astonishes me) that I might return to the waist and join the boarding party. Seething and smarting from more than the blow I suffered, and with blood running down my face, I conceded this would be the wisest course of action, and climbed from the gun deck to ragged cheers which admittedly did go some distance in soothing my wounded pride, if not my wounded head.

I borrowed a cutlass and slashed the air with it, feeling quite ferocious. Jack Deverel, that devil-may-care young officer, was laughing and trembling with a hefty dose of strong drink and the excitement of battle, and the other men on the poop deck stood at the ready with pikes and swords, all a-quiver with anticipation. I myself experienced a curious giddiness that had nothing to do with the blow I had suffered, a lightness of heart and an inner voice that told me with great certainty that English courage and strength would win the day. I would have broken into song, but Captain Anderson had ordered quiet on deck. Nevertheless, I could not resist cutting the smallest of capers, and I swung my sword, imagining driving it into the soft bellies of our French enemies.

“Mind where you’re sticking that thing!” a voice hissed. 

Chastened, I halted immediately, but turned to see who had addressed me with such venom. Captain Sharpe glared at me from beneath knotted brows. Evidently he had decided, for reasons obscure to me, that he was my adversary, but that made little difference to my heart; I felt it trip uneasily in my chest as I met his glacial green stare. “Captain Sharpe.” I managed to sound cool and indifferent, though I was anything but.

Sharpe recoiled. “What the devil happened to you?”

“Ah.” I touched my face and examined my fingertips. The amount of blood on them was shockingly dark and profuse, but I affected nonchalance. “I fear I’m the first victim of tonight’s impending scrape, Captain – I was deucedly impatient to shed first blood!” 

Without so much as a whisper in reply, Sharpe cradled his rifle in his arms and fixed me with an expression that bespoke his utter lack of patience with my wit.

“It seems I am too tall for the gun deck, Captain.” Perhaps I would venture down there again though, I mused, as Captain Sharpe had efficiently cut me down to size.

Sharpe shifted his weapon to one arm and laid his fingers on my cheek, turning it to one side so that he could inspect the damage. My heart gave another series of uneven thumps. “Christ,” he muttered. “You’d best go below and get that looked after, lad. You’re white as a sheet.”

“Down below with the women – and miss the conflict? What do you take me for? Indeed I will not, sir.” In fact I was developing an unmerciful headache, but I would be thrice damned if I would relinquish what would almost certainly be my only opportunity to distinguish myself in battle. I had in mind my first of many addresses to Parliament: Gentlemen, I have learned that in the heat of frenzied conflict, a cool head and a strong arm is a man’s surest pathway to victory. I therefore – 

“You’ll be no good to owt with a broken head,” Sharpe replied soberly.

In reply, I merely squared my shoulders and looked down my nose, a feat ordinarily easy to accomplish, but Sharpe was nearly as tall as I and not so inclined to squirm beneath a withering glare as others might have been. In my secret heart, I rejoiced; surely his words were not the reply of one adversary to another.

A smile, quickly smothered, flashed across Sharpe’s face. “Well, you look a right terror covered in all that blood. If the Frogs don’t run screaming at the sight of you, they’re made of tough stuff and no mistake.”

Did I feel a glow at this most knightly of accolades? I must attest that I did. “I’m positively sanguinary, Captain Sharpe.” I waited for his laugh, but none was forthcoming. Clearly he was more used to blunt speech than subtle bon mots. I tried again, eager to win his approval, eager for more conversation, even upon the advent of battle. “May I beg some advice? How best to dive into a throng of savage Frenchmen? I presume you have vast experience with that…ah…sword of yours.” Beyond the fencing lessons that are the mainstay of any gentleman’s education, I had little knowledge of swordplay, and the cutlass in my hand was shorter and broader than the needle-slim, delicate rapiers to which I was accustomed.

“Not much,” he replied with a shrug, and nodded down at his rifle. “This is what’s always worked best for me, sir. But when I’ve got to use the sword, I swing low and hard, and the devil take the hindmost.”

I was near to asking him for a demonstration – truly, I was almost as shameless as Zenobia Brocklebank! – but at that moment Lieutenant Summers approached. “Captain Anderson’s compliments, Mr. Sharpe, and can you join us on the quarterdeck?”

I stepped away and bowed slightly. “The quarterdeck!” I murmured with a touch of envy. “The sanctum sanctorum, to be sure. Well, I shall not detain you, but instead wish you good fortune in the battle to come, Captain.”

“Aye. Good luck to you, lad – Mr. Talbot.” Sharpe nodded, and walked away with the lithe grace of a great cat. I watched surreptitiously, and a hot blush came to my face as I admired the fit of his uniform, a set of garments that had seen far better days, patched and tattered as it was, and yet it suited him as no finer raiment would. Dazed, I touched my hand to my head again, wincing at the pain and the blood plastering my hair to my scalp. The headache had got far worse, and I thought I should faint, but steeled myself and made my way to the defended larboard side to wait for the mysterious ship to approach. 

I had written my letters, and said my farewells. I was ready to lay down my life. I glanced up and saw Captain Sharpe on the quarterdeck. He stood poised and alert, and seemingly without fear. He looked down at me and nodded coolly. I clenched my jaw and brandished my sword, ready to prove myself.

The opportunity did not come. A blinding shower of sparks dazzled my eyes, and a roar greeted us from the approaching ship. The ship was the Alcyone, bringing news: Napoleon had been soundly beaten, and withal had fled to Elba. The war had ended!

I could scarcely credit my own ears with hearing the news correctly. Only the reactions of those near me gave answer to my confusion. I saw Jack Deverel curse and bury the blade of his sword in the larboard rail. I saw the pike-men lift up their weapons and give a shout as with one voice, great, deep huzzahs that seemed to shake the very boards beneath my feet. I saw another blinding flash of brilliance, and a veritable rainstorm of coruscating sparks showering downward. I saw Sharpe’s Chosen Men rise to their feet and embrace each other, laughing and shouting with the rest. In the tumult, I sought Captain Sharpe, but I could not find him.

But let me now think of peace, and how best to conduct myself in a world that has utterly changed in a moment.

 

*

 

I have not troubled to note the disposition of the crew since the announcement of the end of the war, but I can say with a great deal of assurance that the passengers, at least, are much eased in their minds. A general lightness of heart has pervaded all gatherings since the Alcyone has come and gone, and even the most irascible tempers have cooled to benignity. Such was the mood at dinner one evening, a repast of salt beef and pickles and the inevitable hard-tack biscuit. (One might as well gnaw boot leather; I am confoundedly tired of this fare and must remind myself that we still have months to travel. But oh, for the soft, warm heart of a loaf of bread, with sweet butter! Or a handful of fresh summer peas, delicate and sweet in a simmering wine sauce! Sometimes I dream of these temptations and awaken with an aching belly). 

Captain Sharpe sat among us this evening, a welcome change, as he generally prefers the company of his Chosen Men. Naturally, the ladies surrounded him as bees gather near a phlox-bush, and he repaid their simpers and smiles with soft replies and an expression of abashment that quite melted their hearts, as they scarcely allowed him to eat whilst they plied him with questions. I could not hear his words myself as I had Mr. Pike on one side of me and the starched Miss Granham on the other, and they persisted in carrying on the most ludicrous of conversations. At length the meal was ended; the ladies went one way, the gentlemen another, and Captain Sharpe made a leisurely exit toward the waist.

I drained the dregs of the wine in my glass and followed him. Have I no shame any longer? Has the sea swept me clean of all decency and decorum? I neither know nor care, for I now – but I am getting ahead of my tale. I followed the man as if I were an eager puppy and saw him at the starboard rail, holding fast to a line and gazing out at the moonlit sea. I hesitated – rarely do I go where I am not invited – but in the end decided to approach him. I stood beside him, and he glanced at me, acknowledging me with the barest nod of his head.

That night the wind had freshened, and we moved at a considerable speed. Ploughing through the water now, though, was invigorating, even delightful, and I rejoiced that I no longer suffered from the mal de mer. Captain Sharpe, naturally, had not suffered from it at all, and he too appeared to relish the sensation of movement. The wind blew his fair hair back from a clear brow, and the moonlight, which turned the sea to the most refulgent silver liquid, an ocean of mercury, if one can imagine it, gave a glint to his eye that seemed both enticing and dangerous, a tempting combination to anyone. And yet I fancied a discontentment in his posture, a restlessness that he strove to conceal.

“A fine view,” I murmured.

Sharpe looked out onto the sea with a remote expression. He tilted his head to one side, as if considering whether or not the view was indeed fine, and whether or not it would be prudent to remark upon it, and then finally conceded the point with a brief inclination of his head. “Aye. It is that.”

“As a soldier, I expect you’re weary of looking at nothing but water. I dare say you’ll be relieved when at last we reach our destination.”

A shrug lifted Sharpe’s shoulders. “I reckon I will. Won’t you, sir?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But I am trying to make the most of this adventure. I have kept a diary for my godfather detailing everything that has happened thus far, and now that it is full, I find myself continuing to make observations. It has become a habit.” I paused to glance at him, and then continued, “For instance, I have noticed that you seem a trifle low this past week, Captain Sharpe.”

He gave me a thunderous frown, then sighed. “Aye, I reckon I have. Sorry for it, sir.”

“You needn’t apologise to me, Captain. In point of fact, I hope you will consider me a friend.” I coughed, and was glad for the darkness that hid the sudden flush that rose to my cheeks. “In further point of fact, I wish to convey my own heart-felt apologies for anything I might have said that has caused offence to you. I know I have not always been…as kind as I could be.”

Sharpe smiled. “That’s all right, lad.”

I was heartened by his smile. “Is it the prospect of peace that has you dejected, Captain? Were you hoping for further skirmishes?”

He gave me a narrow look, and I feared I had over-stepped myself yet again. When will I find the correct tone with the man? Each time we meet I feel as if I have a great fool’s cap on my head. At last he sighed. “Nay, it’s not that. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

That rankled; I was no mere child to be disregarded so. “You might be surprised, sir. Not all facets of the human condition are a mystery to me.” A broad smile tugged at his mouth, and he shook his head. Truly, if I were not so fascinated by him…. 

“I’m a soldier. Have been since I were a nipper even younger than yourself. It’s all I know.”

“And…you fear the elimination of your livelihood.”

“That’s it.”

I strained to solve the conundrum. “But surely, Captain, we have a standing army. Could not a place be made for you there?”

“Aye, I reckon it could, but what would I do? Push papers about, train recruits –“ He shook his head. “That’s not for me. I’m – fighting’s all I know, lad.” He leaned forward upon the rail, looking desperately unhappy.

Determined to ease his distress, I ventured another solution. “Perhaps once we reach Australia you can find suitable employment. Possibly I can be of some assistance in that regard. I understand some of the native people are troublesome.”

“They were there first,” Sharpe pointed out.

“Yes, but – they have attacked English settlements unprovoked.”

Sharpe snorted. “Oh, aye. Unprovoked.”

I held my temper. “Another occupation, then. Farming? A smithy, perhaps? Some other trade?”

His only answer was a deep, heavy sigh, brimming with impatience and dismissal.

I struck the rail. “Damnation, man, I’m only trying to help.” Before either of us could say another word that might arouse too-heated emotion, I turned and strode toward the ladder, then took refuge in a maze of wood, rope, and canvas. I lifted my head, let the wind cool my burning face, and attempted to banish the abject misery that had taken hold in my heart. If Captain Sharpe was above friendly commiseration or advice, that was his affair! Let him wallow in self-pity.

A hand fell on my shoulder. “Lad.” I jumped, and he stroked his hand down to my elbow, as if he were gentling a horse. “Sorry. I know you meant well.”

I contained the shiver that fought to escape, afraid he would take it as a sign of repulsion when in fact it was anything but. “Captain Sharpe, I seem to end up wrong-footed every time we speak. I accuse myself of believing you to be a simple creature, and most evidently you are not. I ask your forgiveness yet again.”

Sharpe gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir. You’re a right prickly one.”

“So I am led to understand.” The ship heaved, and I clung to a line. “I know they call me Lord Talbot below.”

“Do they?” Sharpe inquired innocently.

“Oh, come now, you know they do. I’m not, of course. I may be addressed as Mr. Talbot, or Esquire, if you prefer, but Lord Talbot…no, I fear that is far in the future, if at all.” I attempted a laugh. “I suppose I deserve it, but I have only tried to conduct myself as a gentleman ought. I know now that many concerns of my class do not figure prominently on a ship. That has been made abundantly clear to me.” I faced him, still clinging to a line and endeavouring to see his face in the moonlight now veiled by clouds. “I am not so…overbearing, am I?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Nay. You’re all right, lad. Green yet, that’s all.”

“Not so green,” I whispered, and with more daring than I can credit, I reached out and touched my fingertips to his cheek, half-expecting a blow.

What happened instead nearly undid me. He grasped my arm with one hand and the back of my head with another, and drew me into a kiss that – how do I speak of it? It transcended any kiss I had experienced before. It was brutal and tender at once, demanding and generous, but not chaste. Oh, God! Not chaste at all. I tasted the wine on his tongue, felt the roughness of his masculine face, and pressed myself against him so that he might feel the effect he had upon me.

It worked only too well. I felt his hand between my legs, at first questing, then touching with unerring skill, and I thought I would release then and there. I pressed harder and wrapped an arm around his neck, still steadying myself by clutching a line as the ship heaved to and fro.

Sharpe came to his senses first and detached himself from me. “Christ, lad,” he whispered, “the crew’s everywhere.”

“Where?” I pleaded. “Where can we go? My cabin – the walls are so thin. There are families so close….”

“Mine.” He turned and made his way across the boards, disappearing down the ladder. I followed on suddenly shaking legs, glad for the darkness that concealed my arousal and my no doubt scarlet visage. I had the misfortune to encounter Mr. Brocklebank and Mr. Prettiman in an argument; they attempted to detain me, but I brushed past them with a mutter and followed Sharpe to his cabin, a sorry hutch even smaller and more ill-fitted than mine. We were fortunate; no one disturbed us or noted our progress. He closed the door behind me, and in the darkness I heard him struggling with fabric.

“What are you doing?” I asked foolishly.

“Tying the bloody door shut.”

“Ah. Well done.” I waited, pressed up against the wall, listening to his harsh breaths and my own. At last the task was complete and I did not so much hear as feel him move closer to me. 

I have mentioned a young man prior to this. What we did I will not recount, but I was fairly well-convinced that we gathered clumsy yet thorough experience in our youthful fumblings. But Sharpe…Sharpe laid his mouth upon mine and unbuttoned my trousers, and when he caressed me I knew that my own experience paled before his. His thumb brushed back and forth over the head of my cock, his hand moved up and down with aching slowness, and before I knew it I was groaning aloud, so that he was obliged to kiss me deeply to silence my cries. In moments it was over, and I felt a wave of faintness that nearly overcame me. It was only by the greatest exertion of strength that I remained standing, or rather, leaning against the wall.

Gradually I realized that Sharpe was unfulfilled, and timidly my hand slipped to his woollen trousers. I struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings and eventually found what I sought. I was not so skilled as he, but I was ardent, and gratified to hear his breath coming harsh and ragged in the darkness, and to feel the evidence of his satisfaction.

He leaned close to me in the darkness, and at length kissed me again, most tenderly and with exceeding intimacy. “You’d better go back to your cabin, lad.”

I bit my lip. “Yes. I suppose I had.” Whereupon I fastened my trousers and departed with haste and stealth, finding my way back to my own hutch easily. I sank onto my bunk and fell into the most restful sleep I have yet experienced on this voyage.

 

*

 

To-day in the passenger saloon, Captain Sharpe smiled at me during breakfast. It was a smile of great complicity.

I am very happy.

 

*


	4. Between Wind and Water

*

Literature, from Noah’s deluge to Defoe’s Crusoe to Mr. Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, has painted a grim portrait of those who sail upon the seas: doomed to doubt and peril and sometimes to despair. I had not thought to count myself among their number, but for the past few weeks I have been tossed from the heights of ecstasy to the very deepest trenches of anguish – and back again! Such indeed is the overwhelming and passionate tide of my moods; I have been as changeable as the ocean itself, and though perhaps Edmund Talbot at the beginning of this voyage would never have entertained the merest _whisper_ of a thought of infatuation, _this_ Edmund Talbot, re-awakened to some of life’s more exotic pleasures, is happy enough to admit the possibility of that very thing.

Infatuation? Let us not be coy. God help me, I have fallen into an erotic stupor from which there is no arising. My every spare thought is taken with Captain Sharpe, who persists in his stoical character come sun or storms. He behaves with shy gallantry toward the women and with congenial authority toward his Chosen Men, and with grave understanding toward Captain Anderson and the other officers of this ship. To all others he is polite, aloof, and never unkind. Toward me? He veritably _toys_ with me, damn his eyes.

I am unjust. But what else am I to think? We have not repeated our encounter in his cabin. In point of fact, it appears that Captain Sharpe has gone out of his way to hold himself aloof from me. Oh, he smiles, he nods, he even speaks to me on the rarest of occasions, but for the better part of a month he has neither shared an intimate word with me, nor touched me, nor – oh, for his hands again! 

But I am no fool. I know that were our assignation to be made public, there would be naught but scorn and derision, and possibly even some punishment; I am not too familiar with the Articles of War but I know full well that at sea, a captain’s word is law – indeed, the captain is God Himself, and I fear that in the grip of divine powers, Captain Anderson would not look kindly upon the Greek vice. And yet it is commonly known, or at least whispered, that sailors avail themselves of each other when there are no women to be had. Surely these sins are overlooked until the next port of call?

All this internal wrangling and torment is entirely beside the point. The simple fact is this: Captain Sharpe is avoiding me and I will find no peace until I discover the truth. 

Alas. I already suspect it, and am struggling manfully to contain my sorrow. That man will be the ruin of me.

*

To-night I was in want of both festivity and formality. I ordered my best evening clothes laid out, and I bathed as best as I was able in my little canvas wash-bowl. How heartily sick I am of the filth on this ship; I should have thought I would become accustomed to it, and so I am to some extent, but there are times when the odour and grime become nigh unbearable. I believe my first act upon setting foot on dry land will be to command that a bath-tub be brought to me, with plenty of hot water and scented soap, and I shall lie in it and soak and scrub until I glow with cleanliness.

I dressed with care – shirt, stock, tails, knee-breeches, silk stockings, pumps. I found among my possessions a small vial of orange-flower scent untouched since before my journey, and touched some to my handkerchief. If I am to be ‘Lord Talbot’ then let me dress the part!

Captain Sharpe was at dinner, and how foolish is youth, for I contrived to ignore him throughout the meal. I flattered Zenobia Brocklebank with my attentions, and received for my pains several lingering caresses upon the arm and hand, and once, the ghostly sensation of her fingers drifting with feigned innocence against my leg. I resolved then to repay her affections with some of my own, though I believe her generosity has been distributed with little discrimination over the length of this journey.

My resolve crumbled as dinner wore on. It is the tantalizingly withheld morsel that is desirable, not the proffered one, and I could not resist stealing a glance now and then at the stern features of Captain Sharpe without thinking how candlelight flattered him even more than it did the ladies. The soft gilt glow lent a golden cast to his face and burnished his hair and the silver of his buttons, giving him a positively Apollonian radiance. The joy crested and sank again, leaving me as breathless and helpless as a beached fish (oh, forgive these tired nautical metaphors! I am no poet, only a pen-scratching journeyman). From time to time he did look at me, but with the barest of nods and the slightest of smiles. 

As an example of my fleeting and changeable emotions, I wished then for nothing so much as to be left alone to wallow in my misery despite my earlier longing for conviviality, but there was to be entertainment in the waist, and I was entreated to attend. And so a party was convened, a few of the sailors were persuaded to take out their battered instruments, and there was music and singing. Only my heart seemed to be heavy. Still, I danced a figure or two and managed to acquit myself reasonably well. While I danced, I saw Zenobia Brocklebank clinging to Captain Sharpe’s arm on the pretext of a pitching deck, which did not pitch in the least. I was glad when the sailors began their own cavorting to the passengers’ amusement, and slipped away to stand below the shrouds, watching the timeless and fathomless sea.

“I keep hoping I’ll see a mermaid.”

It was not necessary to turn to know who spoke; that voice stroked the length of my body and set a fire aflame in my soul. I did not know why he had chosen this moment to join me, but he must have seen me walk off alone, and therefore decided to follow. Hope vanquished despair, or at least held it at bay.

“It is my understanding from those sailors who have claimed to see one that they are not quite as comely as one would expect.”

“Is that right?”

“Indeed. They are said to be whiskered and quite hideous, with great barking voices. I believe the only reason that Homer claimed Odysseus had been tempted by the Sirens is that the author himself was stone blind.” I chuckled, but Sharpe remained silent. I really must remember to temper my wit around him. “Still, you may see one yet.”

“No one would believe me if I said so.”

“Perhaps not.” Not one word, not one _breath_ about what had transpired between us – had he forgot altogether? Or was he so ashamed that he had decided never to speak of it again? “Still, who needs mermaids when this ship has its own bevy of beauties? Zenobia Brocklebank, for one.”

“Aye, she’s a pretty lass.”

“Everyone seems to think so,” I replied acidly. Good God, what a child I was. 

“Don’t be like that, lad.”

I all but stamped my foot. “Devil take it, man, how shall I be, then?” I became conscious that my voice had risen and endeavoured to lower it. “I must be candid with you, sir. I feel ill-used. In fact, you wound me exceedingly. If you would but tell me that your station and mine must prevent another meeting, or that you are overcome with some sort of moral fit, then so be it, but have the courtesy to say so, rather than leaving me three sheets to the wind.”

Sharpe was silent for a moment. “Three sheets to the wind means you’re drunk, sir.”

“Confound it, you know what I meant.” I scowled at him, too angry to even feign hauteur.

He nodded and leaned against the rail. Despite myself, I watched him and admired his profile – if it did not possess a patrician fineness, it did have its own allure – a strong nose, firm mouth and chin. I yearned so badly to kiss him.

“I were married, you know.”

Of all the things I had thought he might say, that was hardly one of them. “I did not. I wonder you had time for a wife whilst in the army.”

“Well, I was. Teresa. Spanish. A lady, she were, with title and lands and all that until the Frenchies came. They took it all away. Left her with nowt.”

“And you…you feel guilty because you were unfaithful to her.”

Sharpe shook his head. “She died. Murdered.”

“Good God.”

“I killed the bastard who did it.” Sharpe opened his hands and stared at them. “And if I had him here now, I’d kill him again, and with pleasure.”

“I am sorry,” I said softly. I was uncertain why he had chosen to confide in me, so I waited without saying more, exercising as much prudence as I could.

Sharpe gave me a smile that was unexpectedly sweet. “Thank you, lad. She had fire in her belly. She became a partisan. They called her _La Aguja_ \- the needle. She were ferocious.”

“I should think that any woman married to you would need to be, Captain Sharpe,” I said. “I mean that as the very highest compliment to you, and to your late wife.”

He chuckled softly. “Could be.” He stared out at the sea. “I loved her. And after her I told myself…don’t you see, Mr. Talbot, that if there were a second time, then there might be a third, and then I don’t know where we’d be.”

“I cannot understand. I only know that I have been in torment.” I reached out and touched my fingers to his. I felt their strength, the hard callus of a man who labors, and became excited. “Please, Captain….”

“Christ.” He took my hand in a bruising grip. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Everyone who isn’t sleeping is occupied. Your cabin –“

He groaned aloud. “Go on, then. I’ll be down after you. Wait for me.”

I went on trembling legs to his sordid little hutch. He had no candle, and the feeble light that reached the cabins during the day had dissolved entirely. I would have liked to see his possessions, such as they were. I seated myself upon his bunk and waited.

The door creaked open. “Lad?”

“Yes.” My voice, ordinarily low and resonant and not wholly unpleasant, climbed upwards like a boy’s. “Yes.”

“Stand up.”

I stood, steadying myself against the wall. “Have you a candle?”

I heard a soft laugh. “You want to show everyone what we’re doing?”

“I want to see you.”

“I’m right here.” He took my hand, drew me close, and kissed me. It was a tender kiss, more affectionate than his kisses of weeks ago. “Kiss me back, lad. Come on then.”

His very words sent a thrust of arousal into my prick, and I responded with near savagery, all but shoving him into the wall and forcing myself upon him. To my utter surprise, he did not push back nor attempt to assert dominance, but instead yielded to my violent kisses. Enflamed, I grasped his wrists and pinned them to the wall, suckling on his ear, the skin of his throat, his tongue. “I want to fuck you,” I whispered, thrilling to the utter vulgarity of my speech.

“Here.” I felt something touch my wrist, and I pulled back, puzzled. It was a rounded tin; when opened, it revealed an ill-smelling substance. “Butter. A bit rancid, but still.”

All at once I realised the implications of his words. Dear God! I could not unfasten my breeches quickly enough. He turned to his bunk, fumbling with his own clothing, and braced himself against it, half leaning upon it. I let my breeches slide down to my thighs and hastened to smooth the butter over my erect prick. I took it in hand and moved forward, feeling his tight backside. The bunk swayed, but I was undeterred. I forced myself inside and held still, shuddering. “Oh. Oh, God.”

Sharpe braced the swaying bunk against the wall by main force. “That’s it, lad. Deeper.” He groaned softly.

“I – oh, God –“ My prick thrust forward, and I steadied myself by grasping his lean hips. In the close darkness we grappled, and at last I had breached him entirely and conquered him, reveling in his deliberately stifled moans. The need for secrecy only served to arouse me further, and I drove inside him with great force; I plundered him, and when at last he yielded with a cry, I too cried out, abandoned, shivering with the force of my release.

What happened next I cannot entirely recall, only that it seemed as if hours passed with our bodies inextricably locked together. At last we un-coupled, and with exceeding sweetness Sharpe turned to me and put my clothes in order. “You’re rigged right fancy tonight.”

“Had I but known this would be the result, Captain, I should have rigged much earlier.”

He laughed and kissed me again, put his hand on my cheek and caressed it, then leant his forehead against mine. “You’ve a fire in your belly too.”

I put my arms around him. “If I had a poetic soul, I would dazzle you, but I do not. I…I cannot contain my affection for you.”

A sigh escaped his lips. “Ah, lad.” He kissed me again, and I shall leave it there, for I am exhausted and my candle is near its end. Let me only say that I no longer feel despair; indeed, I am buoyed upon a silvery wave of adoration.

*

I have neglected this diary for nearly a month, but that is not for lack of information; rather, I am _experiencing_ sensual pleasures in such abundance that I can find neither the time nor the words to render my feelings properly. Captain Sharpe and I have been together on six occasions now, and each time I am propelled forward, upward, and can now scarcely conceal my – I do not even know if there is a word for what I –

Oh, dear God. Land. Land! We have arrived!

 

*


	5. Sydney Cove

5\. Sydney Cove

Last night Captain Sharpe and I dined at the home of His Excellency the Governor. I presented Sharpe to His Excellency with justifiable and, I thought, pardonable pride, and endeavoured to scrape acquaintance on Sharpe’s behalf, but that was hardly necessary, as His Excellency is late of His Majesty’s army and the two found very much in common. Indeed, His Excellency bade Sharpe sit at his right hand and regaled him with the wildest tales, and later, when the rest of the guests were assembled for a short musical evening, drew Sharpe into his private library. Pleased at their free-and-easy camaraderie, and with a burning curiosity, I contrived to be absent for a short while, and peered in to see the two of them huddled over what appeared to be campaign maps – I cannot be sure, naturally, as I am unfamiliar with military trappings save the little I have observed from Sharpe himself. I was delighted to see that they had become such fast friends, however, and congratulated myself not a little, for it was not inconceivable to me that His Excellency might offer Sharpe a commission of some kind. I was prepared to petition on his behalf as well, should Sharpe’s own reputation prove inadequate.

Later, nearly at the end of the concert, they emerged from the library, and Sharpe sat beside me on a tufted sofa, a wonderful, luxurious piece of embroidered satin delight that neither shifted on a salt-stained deck nor smelled of bilge and cow dung. He leaned close and whispered in my ear. “You’re looking grand, sir.”

I confess I had dressed specially, for I had not seen Sharpe for days. The landing and my new duties – for I had assumed them almost immediately – left me little time for social congress, but as I grew accustomed to them, I began to make room, little by little, for more besides work. If a man only works and has not leisure, he grows cross and costive, old before his time, and I vow that will not happen to me. And so, in anticipation, I took particular pleasure in dressing that evening. New stockings, a new neckcloth, a freshly cleaned and pressed coat and breeches, and even new gloves, for there are, astoundingly, shops that carry handsome accoutrements here, much of it made from India silk, cheap to import by all accounts. Sharpe, too, was looking fine and virile, even dazzling, in a dress uniform he had not troubled to wear once on board. I did not fight the swell of pride and possession that rose in my heart at the sight of him.

As his breath and his lips brushed softly against my ear, I could not prevent a delicious shiver. “I wonder if you might be free this evening, Captain.”

“I were about to ask you the same thing.”

“Capital.” The music came to an end, and we all clapped politely, though in truth the performances were lackluster at best. I shall have to see about finding a decent ensemble for more important evenings here. “My trap is outside, and there is room for two.”

My little house is not far from the Governor’s palace, and we reached it in short order. I showed him round, still enchanted with the idea of comforts after so many long months at sea. He showed more interest in my books than I would have thought, and I offered my meager library for as long as he should wish to avail himself of it. As usual, he did not speak much, but took in his surroundings with an appreciative eye, and I yearned to possess him. With more haste than usual I dismissed the servants (because the house is so small, they do not live in, a minor inconvenience, but at times when utter privacy is desired, a boon and a blessing) and offered to show Sharpe the garden.

The singing of night birds and insects provided a far lovelier counterpoint to the evening than the sad scratchings of the Governor’s ensemble, and the mingled fragrance of a dozen different flowering shrubs and trees filled the night with a sweet perfume. I carried a lantern and pointed out the few plants I knew. “I am no gardener, to be sure, but I cannot but think that this natural profusion is more pleasing in its way than formal gardens. After carefully raked paths and planned beds in carefully chosen colors and shrubs cut into the most tortured shapes, this is a relief.”

“It’s pretty,” Sharpe said, and took the lantern from me to examine a broad white flower with a crimson center. He leant forward and inhaled its scent. “Smells pretty too.”

“It is heady stuff, is it not? I shall have it rendered into a perfume, I think – far more exotic than lilies or orange-water.”

Sharpe smiled, and looked up into the night sky. The stars, and most especially the great crux, shone brilliantly above us, jewel-like and flashing. “You like it here, lad?”

“I have scarcely stopped a moment to think let alone ponder on whether I like it here, for my time has been occupied almost to the minute. But upon reflection…yes, I do. Yes, I think the life will suit me. Early days, of course, but if I adapted myself to life at sea, I think I should adapt myself as well to a life in this land of heat and blooms.”

“That’s good,” Sharpe murmured, and bent to sniff at another flower.

I watched him with some disappointment. I had hoped that we would fall into an embrace the very moment we stepped outside, but once again he held himself apart from me. It was a new chapter, I told myself; no longer forced to an existence of furtive assignations, we must needs learn to negotiate in this entirely different sphere. I looked forward to the discoveries we would make together. “But what of you? I gather your time with His Excellency was well-spent.”

“Aye. He had some stories. I’d not believe half of them if I hadn’t had some mad ones of my own.” Sharpe turned away from the flower and sat on a little stone bench. His shoulders hunched low, and his face was downcast in the lantern’s soft glow.

“Indeed! You spent half the night together. I found myself a touch jealous.” I spoke lightly, jesting to remove the gloom from his face. “I had always thought soldiers to be most stoical fellows, but His Excellency is particularly jovial and garrulous, I find.”

“Aye, he is.” Sharpe clasped his hands together. I watched the long fingers knit and unwind and yearned to have them on my body. “I hear that Boney might be planning to re-form his troops.”

“Surely not. To-night at dinner, His Excellency himself assured us that Bonaparte is a beaten man. Did you not hear?” Sharpe gave me a steady, patient look. “Ah. I see. He assures us to assuage any possible fears, and confides a different thing entirely to a fellow-soldier.”

“He’ll tell you himself in the next day or so, I reckon.”

“I should think so.”

“They’ll have to be ready for him, if he does come.”

“I imagine so,” I said, and sat down beside him. “I rather think that –“ I stopped as a sudden poisonous certainty took root and flowered in my chest. I could not speak for a moment, for I grew breathless, and a great stabbing pain centered itself in me and twisted without mercy. Sharpe sat in silence, his face averted from mine. “You’re leaving.”

Sharpe reached for my hand and, drawing off my glove, brought it to his lips and kissed the palm. “I have to, lad. There’s a ship that sails tomorrow –“ 

“No!” I wrenched my hand away, blindly stumbled upward, then sank to my knees before him. “Pray do not go, Captain. I know I am not – I am not all you would wish. I know you must crave the company of women, also. Take one – take as many as you desire. Marry, have children, but please –“ I heard my voice crack like a young boy’s, and felt tears come into my eyes. “Please do not leave. I have vowed to speak to His Excellency on your behalf, and I will use every last shred of influence I possess to propel you toward a glittering career. Think of it – perhaps one day I shall be Governor and you –“

Gentle fingers pressed against my lips. “Hush now, lad. You can’t talk like that. You’ll break my heart.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me on the mouth. “You’ve stolen it already.”

I pressed my ungloved hand to Sharpe’s, still cradling my cheek, and wept unreservedly. “Then why are you leaving?”

“Oh, God.” He drew me close and embraced me, and I clung to him tightly. I had wild and hazy thoughts about abducting him before he boarded his ship, imprisoning him, forcing him to come to his senses. “Don’t you see, lad? We’re too different, you and me.” His voice was muffled in my coat; he grasped my shoulders and held me away. “You’re a gentleman, you are – a fine house, a position, grand friends. I’m nowt but a soldier.”

“But I can help you advance. And – and I have changed. I’m not the same Edmund Talbot who boarded the ship in England – can you not see that? Do you take me for such a fool? Do you think I don’t know how fine you are, how brave and good –“ I grasped his hands. “Please. I beg you to stay.”

For an answer, he leant forward again and kissed me, and I felt my heart break. I laid my head in his lap and cried like a child, and he smoothed my hair and stroked my back and murmured comfortingly. When the worst of the storm had passed, he drew his fingertips over my wet cheek and gave a deep sigh. “You must be tired.”

I was exhausted, but I would not let him go. Not yet. “Perhaps…perhaps we can say a proper farewell.”

“I didn’t like to ask.”

A brief laugh spiraled from my throat. “Captain Sharpe, your gentlemanly reticence far outpaces mine, I assure you.” I dashed tears from my eyes. “If we had engaged in intimate congress and then you had told me, I would not have been offended.”

“Aye, but ladies tend not to like that sort of thing.”

“But I am no lady.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He smiled at me. “All right then, Mr. Talbot. Lead the way.”

My bedchamber is small, but perfectly adequate and as fresh and comfortable as can be. Sharpe whistled softly at the bed piled with pristine white linens as he closed the door. “That’s grand, isn’t it?”

“Infinitely preferable to a stinking cabin.” I sighed, unhappy that I had reminded myself he was leaving, and dropped my gloves on a dainty ivory-inlaid escritoire. “And you must endure another aeon of wretched accommodations, Captain. I begin to doubt your common sense.”

Sharpe smiled. “I thought you got used to it.”

“I did, but enduring it again so soon is nothing I desire keenly, I assure you. Otherwise I might just come with you.” I sat on my bed and brushed ruefully at the grass stains on my stockings.

“And leave your position? You’d be mad to do that, sir.”

“Edmund,” I whispered, gazing up at him.

“Richard.”

“Don’t tempt me.” I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it upon a chair, then unfastened my waistcoat and neckcloth. 

Sharpe moved closer, leant down, and slipped off my shoes, setting them neatly to one side. He tugged down my stockings and reached up to unbutton my breeches. I was already hard, ready for him. He grasped the ends of my neckcloth and pulled me into a deep kiss. I yielded to him, allowed him to strip me entirely naked, and guided his mouth down until he suckled me, evoking choked cries that I did not trouble to stifle. At length he stood and undressed as I watched, relieving himself of all military trappings: sword belt and sash, shoulder belt, jacket, boots, shirt, stockings, trousers, until he was as naked as I. I gaped frankly; how beautiful he was, dappled gold in the candlelight, how finely modeled, and as ready as I. 

I pointed to the dressing-table. “The small bottle. Pray retrieve it, Richard.” As he did, I pushed down the bedclothes and waited with trembling heart as he approached. Presently he climbed into bed beside me, and we clung together, fondling one another and embracing and kissing, unhurried, for we had mere hours now, and each moment became a pearl beyond price. Sharpe was generous, tender, and manly, and I only hope that I paid back in kind. 

“Turn over, love.” As I did, he caressed my backside gently, cupping its lower curve and murmuring in appreciation. He kissed me intimately, kisses I had never before experienced, kisses that brought a hot blush to my face and near-unbearable pleasure to my enflamed senses. When he at last parted my legs and entered me, I grasped helplessly at the sheets and keened. He moved with care, but with increasing urgency until we both cried out at the pinnacle of ecstasy and dived together into a warm, silent sea. Afterward, we slept, sated, our naked limbs entwined.

*

He shook me awake as a pink-and-gold dawn filtered through the gauzy white curtains. “I’ve got to go, before your servants come.”

Sleepily, I wound my arms round his neck. “Oh…must you?”

“Aye. See me off, will you, lad?”

I watched him dress, and could not speak for the heaviness in my heart and a tightness in my throat. Tears formed again in my eyes, but would not fall. At last he stood before me, booted and buckled, his hair brushed, and he smiled, though I fancied a brighter gleam than usual in his green eyes.

“You think I’ll do?”

“I think you’ll do remarkably well.” I stood and pulled my shirt on. “Richard…it is perhaps a foolish and sentimental thing to ask of you, but is there something – some token I might have to cherish?”

A smile brought pleasing lines to his face. “Aye, I reckon so, but I don’t know what…” He touched his green jacket, and then plucked a silver button free. “What about that?”

“That will suit admirably.” I kissed it, then kissed him. We walked to the door, and I opened it, letting in the fresh, dewy morning air. I faced him with extreme gravity, and held out my hand. “Farewell, Richard.”

He grasped my arms and drew me into a kiss. “Farewell, Edmund. I shall never forget you.” He stepped back and nodded, then turned and walked down the avenue of eucalyptus with a long military stride. At the end of the avenue, he stopped, turned, and waved. 

I raised my hand in farewell, still clutching the button of his green jacket.

 

End.


End file.
